


Forty-eight Hours

by moth2fic



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-14
Updated: 2010-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:04:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moth2fic/pseuds/moth2fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A valentine fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forty-eight Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Valentine's Day for all my friends in the Pros fandom.  
> Thanks to Fledge for the beta.

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****

 

**Thursday Afternoon.**

 

‘Bloody hell - _how_ many?’

 

Anson was staring at the assortment of cards on Bodie’s desk, all luridly filled with crimson hearts and roses. Bodie himself was industriously writing addresses on envelopes.

 

‘Sixteen.’ Bodie didn’t seem to find anything odd in his answer and continued writing.

 

‘How d’you know you’ve written the right addresses on the right envelopes?’ The cards were assorted sizes. Doyle, who was idly watching, privately considered that sixteen identical cards might have made life easier but didn’t voice his opinion, knowing when to keep his mouth shut.

 

‘Don’t need to. Doesn’t matter who gets what. They’re all typical valentines and the point of valentines is that you don’t sign them, so there’s no message or anything.’

 

The other agents were, to a man, silenced by this logic. Anson recovered first.

 

‘Suppose it makes sense. Loads of valentines and nobody feels left out or anything. Then you can play the field all year on the strength of it. Beats having to buy roses and chocolates for one special bird or wife.’ He looked round at the others for confirmation of his judgment.

 

Chocolates are bloody expensive,’ agreed Murphy. ‘Have you seen those ones in the advert? Truffle-filled hearts in a red silk-lined casket. Cost an arm and a leg, those do.’

 

‘Wonder why it’s always the birds who get chocolates.’ Someone sounded thoughtful and faintly sad.

 

‘Cos chocolates are for girls?’

 

‘Dunno why. They only complain it makes them put on weight. And most blokes like choccies.’

 

‘Anybody ever had chocs? As a valentine gift, I mean,’ the speaker clarified. The consensus was that no one ever had and that everyone wished, just a little, for some sweet symbol of affection. Bodie was by now matching cards to the correctly-sized envelopes and tucking in the flaps, his tongue peeping past his lips in concentration. Doyle watched him, wishing he would lick the gummed flaps instead of just poking them inside. More of the tongue would be a delicious sight.

 

‘I’ve had cards,’ he volunteered, still keeping his eyes on Bodie. ‘Ten one year. Never quite worked out who they were all from and was terrified to ask, in case I got it wrong and alerted anyone to the idea she wasn’t alone. Couldn’t put them on the mantelpiece, either,’ he added, morosely.

 

Bodie finished his task and looked up. ‘I’d only give chocs to someone really special,’ he said. ‘Someone who deserved the best I could afford. Then it wouldn’t matter what they cost.’ He dug a book of stamps out of his pocket and Doyle’s patience was rewarded with the sight of sixteen delicate swipes of Bodie’s tongue.

 

‘Think you’ll get sixteen in return?’ Anson was eying the pile with an air of disbelief.

 

‘No idea. Don’t really care. Just covering all contingencies.’ Bodie bestowed a grin all round and carried his pile of envelopes to the post - presumably the mail room rather than the post box down the street because he was back quite quickly.

 

‘All second class post,’ he said proudly. ‘Just have to hope they make it in time.’

 

*****

 

**Thursday afternoon (later)**

 

‘Milk or plain?’

 

‘What?’

 

‘Choccies. Or biscuits, anyway. I brought these in for our next obbo but I fancied one now. You?’ Bodie held out two packets of digestive biscuits, one coated in milk chocolate and the other in dark. Doyle just stared. ‘Go on,’ Bodie urged. ‘They go really well with a cuppa.’ So saying, he dunked a dark biscuit in his cup of tea and ate it quickly before it had time to disintegrate all over him. Doyle still stared. ‘Don’t you like chocolate, then? What about those profiteroles somebody brought in at Christmas? You didn’t refuse one of those as I recall.’

 

‘I like the dark chocolate ones,’ said Doyle, patiently, ‘but neither with nor in tea, thanks. And what’s this about biscuits on surveillance? Not our usual style, is it?’

 

‘New Year’s resolution,’ said Bodie, promptly.

 

‘Bodie, it’s February. Almost the middle of February. We’ve been on six details since New Year and I haven’t seen any biscuits on any of them.’

 

Bodie looked slightly taken aback but rallied. ‘So I forgot. They were in my desk. Have one anyway, to make up for all the ones you missed.’ Doyle sighed and took a plain chocolate biscuit, placing it on his desk for later. Bodie smiled angelically and went back to his tea and his report writing. Anson, passing, snagged at least two milk chocolate biscuits and carried on to his own desk.

 

‘Nearest any of us are going to get to chocs,’ he said to Bodie’s belligerent glare. ‘Ta, mate. Rather have the ones in the ad, but these’ll do for now!’

 

‘The ones in that ad look superb,’ Doyle agreed. And Bodie grinned again, looking at his report this time.

 

*****

 

 

 

**Friday afternoon.**

 

‘Saw your Bodie yesterday,’ said Murphy, and Doyle wondered why he used the possessive pronoun till he realised it was just meant as in ‘your partner’ not in any other, intimate way. ‘Carrying a box he was, all gentle-like, as if it might be fragile, or expensive. Said chocolates on the side. Maybe he’s got a special bird after all?’

 

‘If he has, he hasn’t told me yet.’ Doyle tried to speak as if he didn’t care.

 

‘Never thought your Bodie was really one for the birds,’ Murphy went on, ignoring Doyle’s sudden start. ‘Love ‘em and leave ‘em; that’s Bodie. Not the type to spend money on posh chocs.’

 

‘Maybe they weren’t. Posh, I mean. Or maybe they were for someone else and he was just the courier. Or maybe they were something different like an apology or something. Not everything’s connected to Valentine’s day.’

 

‘Hmm.’ Murphy clearly didn’t agree and Doyle didn’t continue the conversation. His Bodie, he thought, could give chocolates to anyone he wanted - but she’d better want him back or he, Doyle would have something to say about it, even if only to Bodie.

 

*****

 

**Friday Evening.**

 

‘You really got sixteen birds?’ Doyle hoped the wistfulness in his voice was drowned by the sheer curiosity. ‘Been counting and I couldn’t come up with that many,’ he added. ‘Not in the last twelve months, anyway.’

 

‘Nah. Sent two to some. Just like to keep people on their toes. Birds and colleagues alike.’ Bodie grinned gleefully. ‘Should see their faces when you ask who else sent them a card!’ Doyle grinned too, amused by his partner’s sense of fun. He finished his drink and bought the next round, glad to see Bodie relaxing after what had been a busy and at times stressful week.

 

‘How about you?’ Bodie sounded genuinely interested. After Anne, Doyle hadn’t shown any real interest in women as more than one-night-stands. Not that Bodie’s conquests were much more than that though the liaisons lasted longer - sometimes months.

 

‘Haven’t sent any this year,’ Doyle said, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘Forgot to buy any as a matter of fact. Nobody really deserving in my sights at present.’ _Except you_, he added silently to himself; but that way lay madness and the wreck of an all-too-precious partnership and friendship.

 

‘Nobody you’d buy chocolates for, then? Not even me?’ There was a teasing note in Bodie’s voice and Doyle let himself laugh, hoping he didn’t sound strained.

 

‘You’d be lucky, mate,’ he said.

 

‘Yeah. Wouldn’t mind some of those chocolate hearts the blokes were talking about. Doubt if any of my birds would be that generous, though.’ Bodie made a face with puppy-dog pleading eyes and Doyle laughed again. It was Bodie’s turn to get the drinks in and the conversation turned to other matters. Valentine’s day, tomorrow, could wait.

 

*****

 

**Saturday Morning (in the middle of the night).**

 

Doyle wasn’t sure what woke him. He was always alert, of course, even in his sleep - it went with the job - but he couldn’t put his finger on what slight noise had dragged him from a dream of Anne. He was quite glad to have been wakened. A quick check showed nothing untoward in the flat and he went to the door. The spy hole showed him the back of a head disappearing. It looked like Bodie’s but surely if there was something the matter Bodie would have knocked; or phoned, or shouted. He opened the door and almost tripped over a parcel.

 

They were trained to be wary of packages but that had been Bodie. He would stake his life on it. Perhaps he was doing, he thought, as he slid a nail under the sticky tape.

 

The casket was as lovely as the television ads had suggested - just as rich, as glowing, as full. The chocolates looked delicious. The card just said With Love. But it was two o’clock in the morning and he was naturally cautious as well as not being one to gorge on chocolate in the middle of the night. He would do some investigating first. Meanwhile, he could at least admire the Valentine’s Day gift and he set it on the coffee table with something approaching awe. Then he went back to bed.

 

*****

 

**Saturday Morning (daylight/shop opening hours)**

 

The next day, or rather later the same day, was Saturday and nobody had suggested they should be in the office so Doyle started his private detection. Armed with his CI5 identification card he headed for the sweet shop he reckoned was the most likely, lying as it did mid-way between their flats.

 

The girl behind the counter was dubious. ‘I can’t let you look at customer records, Mr. Doyle,’ she said. ‘We’re supposed to keep everything very confidential round Valentine’s Day, you know. Well, always, really, but especially...’ her voice tailed off as she looked into the intense green eyes.

 

‘I know that, Miss...?’ Doyle smiled and the girl couldn’t help but respond, giving her name with a shy smile of her own. ‘And I wouldn’t ask,’ he continued,‘but you see, we’ve had reports of this fellow buying chocolates for nefarious purposes. You wouldn’t want to aid and abet a criminal, would you?’

 

‘Oooh! What’s ‘e done then?’ Samantha's own eyes were round with delicious shock.

 

‘Filled the chocs with extra filling, if you take my meaning, with a syringe, we think,’ he said. ‘Sent them to a few of his least favourite politicians.’ He saw her hooked interest with satisfaction and added, ‘Could be acting alone or could be a terrorist plot, so...’ At this point he flashed his card and Samantha crumpled.

 

The record book was meticulously neat and the names of the customers were quite clear. So were the boxes they had chosen and the words they had wanted on the accompanying cards. The one he was looking for was there - paid for by credit card, too, he noted, almost gasping at the price. He handed the book back to the shop girl, promised to get in touch if they found out anything further and left, after pointing out that it might not be one of that shop’s customers after all. CI5 simply had to cover all bases.

 

Now to see if Bodie came round in the afternoon. He would continue to be wary - it was still by no means a foregone conclusion.

 

*****

 

**Saturday Afternoon.**

 

Bodie let himself in and Doyle smiled to himself. They were so close and possibly about to become closer but he wouldn’t go too fast. He might still be wrong, just caught up in his own wishful thinking. Bodie was whistling jauntily as he put a bottle on the table and shrugged off his coat. Then he made a display of noticing the chocolates, waggling his eyebrows and saying, in an exaggerated fashion, ‘Somebody loves you then?’

 

Doyle's lips twitched. ‘Maybe, maybe not. Might be booby trapped, or poisoned or something. Dunno who sent them. Found them on the doorstep this morning. Would have taken them to work if I’d been going in. As it is, they can go to be tested on Monday.’ Bodie’s face was a picture.

 

‘You’re going to hand them over to the lab boys? But they’re...’

 

‘Yeah, I know, expensive and gorgeous. What better way to lull me into taking a risk?’ In answer, his partner opened the box.

 

‘You already had the lid open once; there’s no booby trap.’ He stared accusingly at Doyle.

 

‘I was very careful. Used pliers and had my hand in a glove. Kept my face well away. Opened it over the sink with the window open.’ Doyle kept his face straight as he recited his invented litany. ‘Bodie! No!’ This, in response to Bodie grabbing a chocolate and shoving it into his mouth.

 

‘But they’re O.K. Honestly. I should know...’ Bodie’s features were a mass of blushes and confusion as he realised he’d probably given himself away. Doyle kept muttering about poison and emetics and tests and pretended he had no idea how Bodie could know anything.

 

‘Doyle, they’re from me.’ It was a desperate whisper, hopeful and anxious. ‘I wanted you to have something really nice.’

 

Doyle relented. ‘Thanks. I think. Gave me a nasty moment though. Wasn’t sure whether to shoot them or eat them.’ He looked hard at his partner. ‘Why did you want to give me this particular ‘something nice’? It’s Valentine’s Day, you know!’

 

‘Yes, of course I know. That was the point.’ Bodie had given up trying to pretend. Instead he snatched another chocolate, twirled it and then held it out, his long fingers dangerously close to Doyle’s mouth. ‘They taste good. Try one,’ he said. And Doyle did.

 

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End file.
